Saving Us
by AKs-on-show
Summary: What if Amy and Rory didn't know that the Doctor had survived that day at Lake Silencio? What if he'd travelled on without them, forgotten and alone? What if he hadn't seen them at Christmas? What would drive him back to them and how could he survive losing them forever? A reimagined series seven as I would have liked to see it, without character-, writer- or story-bashing.
1. Prologue I: The God Complex

**A/N:** This story is a reimagining of the final days of the Ponds, starting with their initial farewell from the Doctor in 'The God Complex'. In this story, River won't tell them that the Doctor survived and they will be separated from the Doctor for a long time. This is how I would have preferred series seven to have been written, but don't fear! There will be no character, writer or story bashing.

* * *

**Prologue I**

**-~- The God Complex -~-**

* * *

The street sat sleepily beneath heavy, clouded late autumn skies. Lined on one side with brightly painted terrace houses, the street could have been anywhere in southern England. In the village green, leafless trees draped their shade over abandoned play equipment, and a thin breeze blew what few dead leaves remained in the street. A beautiful, sleek red roadster convertible with the top down was the only car parked on the street.

Slowly, surely, with a wheezing, grinding groan that spoke of eternity and infinity, a tall blue box faded into existence on the footpath. It looked so out of place on that standard issue suburban street, but there was no one around to notice it. A door on one side swung open when an audible creak, and three people stepped out.

One, the only woman among their number, sounded tired as she said: "Don't tell me. This isn't Earth, that isn't a real house and inside lives a goblin that feeds on indecision."

The man to her left, with a pronounced chin and wearing a tweed jacket, answered her with a smile. "No. Real Earth, real house, real door keys."

This latter he tossed to her with a proud grin.

She caught the thrown keys, and stared down at her hands in disbelief. She looked back at the house they'd landed in front of. It was a beautiful two-floor terrace, with a blue front door and a lace curtains in the windows. It was identical to all the other homes in the street, but for the shiny car parked outside.

"You're not serious," she said in her lyrical Scottish wilt.

"The car, too," the man to her right said, jaw hanging slack beneath his large nose. He stepped towards the vehicle, its crimson chassis still sparkling despite the overcast day. "But… that's my favourite car. How did you know that was my favourite car?"

"You showed me a picture once and said 'this is my favourite car'," the first man said, in a passable imitation of the second's somewhat flat middle England accent. He tossed another set of keys in the air.

"Rory," the woman said, walking to her husband and silencing his thanks with a quick "Give us two minutes."

Rory, misjudging his wife's tone, put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "She'll say we can't accept it," he said, conspiratorially, "because it's too extravagant and we'll always feel a crippling sense of obligation."

Shooting a look to his wife, he added: "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

With that, he dashed off towards the house, sparing a few looks of wonder at the gorgeous vehicle he'd just been given

The woman, Amy Pond, leant against the car and patted the space on the hood beside her. The other man went to join her.

"So," she said with a frown as he took his proper place beside her, "you're leaving, aren't you?"

"You haven't seen the last of me," the man, the Doctor, promised her, but there was something in his voice that told her he was lying. "Bad penny is my middle name. Seriously, the looks I get when I fill in a form."

The weak joke wasn't enough to comfort her.

"Why now?"

After a long pause, the Doctor answered. "Because you're still breathing."

Amy swallowed, and looked away before answering with a weak joke of her own. "Well, I think this is about the washing up, personally."

The Doctor spared her a giggle, but hepushed himself away from the car and drifted towards his TARDIS, the blue box that had accompanied him on his adventures long before he'd met Amy Pond and her husband, and would continue to accompany him long after they'd gone off to live their real lives.

"But you're right," he said, turning back to her. "There's still a lot of stuff to look at out there. Did you know there's a planet whose name literally translates as 'volatile surface'?"

Amy giggled at the absurd gestures he made, and he took the last few steps to his TARDIS. Leaning in the doorway, he grinned back at her. "And maybe there's a bigger, scarier adventure waiting for you in there."

He nodded to the house he'd given her. Amy lowered her head, thinking for a second, before walking over to him.

"Even so, it can't happen like this," she said, her voice full of barely contained emotion. "Not after everything. Not after everything we've been through, Doctor. You can't drop me off at my house and say goodbye like we've shared a cab."

The Doctor, his expression dark and hopelessly sad, said "And what's the alternative? Me standing over your grave? Over your broken body, over Rory's body?"

Unable to hold the tears back anymore, she pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in her shoulder.

"If you bump into my daughter," Amy said as she released him from her embrace, "tell her to visit her old mum some time."

The Doctor grinned, and threw a look towards the house. "Look after him."

"Look after you," Amy said, and planted a kiss on the Doctor's forehead.

The Doctor, with his tears in his eyes, nodded once and slowly walked back to the TARDIS. As he reached the doors, he offered Amy a quick wave and then closed the doors behind him. Their rusty hinges squeaked and Amy laughed.

The sounds of the TARDIS' dematerialisation started up and Amy heard the clink of champagne flutes behind her.

"What's happening?" Rory asked, holding a trio of glasses in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. "What's he doing?"

As Amy Pond watched the TARDIS fade away, she smiled through her tears. "He's saving us."


	2. Prologue II: Merry Christmas, Ponds

**A/N: **This is when the story really starts to diverge.

* * *

**Prologue I**

**-~- Merry Christmas, Ponds -~-**

* * *

As the children unwrapped their presents, and Reg held her tightly in his arms, Madge Arwell could have sworn she saw the Caretaker lurking in the doorway. She frowned as he disappeared into the gloom, and resolved in that instant to follow him and thank him for everything he'd done for their family.

Reg was supposed to be dead, after all. It had only been sheer luck that she'd been able to save him and the rest of the bomber crew as they were going down over the Channel. She shuddered to think what would have happened to her and the children without him, and even though the Caretaker had nearly doomed them all in that alien forest her husband owed him his life and her family owed him their happiness.

She would not forget that in a hurry.

Making her excuses to Reg and the children, she hurried after the Caretaker. That tall, funny man, who always wore a tweed jacket and bowtie, had never told her his name, and truth be told she'd never really bothered to ask.

She'd been too caught up in her grief over Reg and her desire to let the children enjoy one more Christmas, and then too elated at his safe return, to get around to it. Mounting the stairs, she quickly reached the door leading to the Caretaker's small annex in the attic. Gingerly, she knocked on the wood. When she heard no reply, she pushed it open and poked her head in.

The room was dark, lit only by moonlight.

In the gloom, Madge made out something made her heart stop. A tall, blue box with lit windows and a light on top. She recognised it as a police box immediately, and suddenly she knew who the Caretaker was. She walked towards it, taken in by the wonder of the sight.

The police box's door creaked open, and the Caretaker stepped out. He came to a stop when he realised she was there.

"Ah," he said, a little awkwardly.

Madge grinned, lifting her finger to point at the man. "Of course! It's you, isn't it? My spaceman angel with his head on backwards!"

"How do I look the right way 'round?" he said with a grin, doing a ridiculous little turn.

"Funnier," she quipped, taking in his ridiculous outfit.

"Okay," he responded, sounding a little deflated.

"You came back," Madge continued, a smile brightening her face.

The Caretaker smiled broadly as he approached, his walk more of a long-legged lope. "You helped me out when I had a bad day. I always like to return a favour. Got a bit _clinchy_ in the middle there, but it sort of worked out in the end. Story of my life."

Madge sighed, and threw her arms open. "Thank you!"

The Doctor folded her in a hug, but said "Oh, you did it all yourself, Madge Arwell. But thanks for thanking me."

Releasing each other from their hug, they took a moment just to smile at each other, to take in the joy of what had happened over the last few days. The Caretaker, his eyes impossibly old, seemed to have new life breathed into him by the few moments they shared together.

Suddenly, Madge remembered something. "Now the last time I saw you, I went back the next day and the police box had gone."

"Yeah!" the Caretaker said gleefully, spinning towards his box. "Would you like to see how it's done?"

"No!" Madge cried warningly. "I'd like you to stay for Christmas, please."

The Caretaker seemed genuinely shocked by that offer, and his stumbling answer betrayed the fact that he didn't quite know how to respond. Pointing his thumb towards his box, he managed lamely: "Things to do, people to see!"

"Of course, yes. Family of your own." Madge nodded indulgently.

"Well…" the Caretaker came up short. "No, actually."

"Oh," Madge said, sympathy in her tone. "Yes, you said 'no family'. There must have people who love you. Friends?"

The Caretaker folded his hands together uncomfortably. "No. Well, yes, but… it's a long story. They all think I'm dead."

Madge was taken aback by that, but the Caretaker didn't seem to notice.

"Never mind, anyway," he said, and once again turned back towards his police box. "Watch my box do its thing, you'll love it!"

"No, no!" she repeated, reaching for him. "No one should be alone on Christmas!"

"No, really," the Caretaker protested, "I really don't mind…"

"I'm not talking about you!" Madge said, affecting her best mothering tone and speaking over the Caretaker's muttered protestations. "I'm talking about your friends! No one should think you're dead, not at Christmas. You must go and tell them. At once."

Her tone brooked no argument.

"Off you go," she said quietly, gesturing towards the police box.

The Caretaker crossed his arms and said sulkily "Yes, mum." Madge offered and encouraging smile, and he ducked forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. Stepping back to his box, he said "Now, eyes on the box."

"Oh, Caretaker!" Madge called, just before he was about to open the door. "What if I require you again?"

"Make a wish," he said with a little smile, and he disappeared inside.

Madge, determined to do as he'd said, kept her eyes on the box and was shocked to see it suddenly take on a brilliant light. With a roar and rushing of wind, it began to fade in and out of existence. She stepped back, awed, and heard the door open as Reg stepped in beside her to watch the box finally vanish.

"What the hell was that?" Reg asked, plainly astonished.

"Oh, it's just the Caretaker returning to the Time Vortex," Madge assured him as though it were nothing. "I've been there myself. It's a lovely place. Shall we go back downstairs?"

* * *

For the Doctor, the choice of destination after leaving Madge, Reg and the children was simple. He set the TARDIS coordinates for a street in outer-borough London, a street had hadn't set foot on since he'd said goodbye to Amy and Rory. Sighing, he flung down a lever on the console and felt the TARDIS shake around him as it set course through the Vortex.

A few moments later, he stepped out onto the bitter, frozen street.

It was the middle of the night, and the road was much more crowded than it had been the last time he was here. Some of the houses featured darkened windows, but many were festooned with Christmas lights and tinsel, and in more than a few he saw decorated trees. Snow was falling lightly and had dusted the road and the bare limbs of the trees that hung over the community green.

Nowhere did Christmas quite the way Britain did.

The TARDIS had landed in the village green, not far from the swings and just across the road from the house with the blue door he'd presented to Amy and Rory. He took a deep breath, trying to decide what to do next.

He'd left them behind after their battle with the minotaur because it had seemed the best thing to do. They had watched him die at Lake Silencio, and even after he'd figured out how to fake his own death, how to switch positions with a robotic spaceship bearing his likeness, he'd decided to let them get on with their own lives. He'd sworn River to secrecy, made her promise not to tell them he was still alive. That, too, had been done to keep them safe.

If the Silence were to learn that he hadn't died at Lake Silencio after all, if the question Dorium had warned him about were ever asked, they'd come after his friends first. That, after all, was the easiest way to find him: endanger his friends, and he'd come running, much like he had at Demon's Run.

Madge had been right; Amy and Rory didn't deserve to believe that he'd been killed, and he didn't deserve to spend Christmas alone. By the same token, however, they deserved to be kept safe.

He walked towards their house slowly, his hearts beating way too fast. He wanted so badly to knock on their door, to be welcomed into their home and back into their lives. The Christmases he'd spent with his friends, whether with Rose, Mickey and Jackie in 2006 or with Jackson, Rosita and Frederick in the 1870s or with Amy and Rory on Sardick's World not so long ago, where among the most memorable he'd ever had.

River had sworn up and down that she would never tell her parents that he was still alive for as long as he needed to keep that fact quiet.

Maybe tonight he'd finally be able to tell them. Maybe tonight he would be able to stop travelling alone. He reached their blue front door, decorated with a wreath, and stood with his right hand poised to knock.

"No," he said to himself. "No."

He turned away from their door and started to walk back to the TARDIS. He heard a peal of laughter, tinged with a Scottish brogue, and turned back. His hearts stopped and his breath left him.

Framed in the window of their lounge room, he could see Amy and Rory. They were both wearing ridiculous sweaters and they were holding each other, dancing to music he could only faintly hear. They shared a kiss, and they looked so happy together, so content. He swallowed painfully. How could he jeopardise that? How could he put that in danger? How could he risk their lives and their happiness again?

As he stood in the park, with snow falling gently around him, he felt a tear leak from the corner of his eye. He reached up to brush it away, and stared at his fingers for a moment.

"Humany-wumany," he said to himself, and he missed them more than ever. "Merry Christmas, Ponds."

* * *

In her living room, Amy Pond paused. "Turn the music down, Rory."

Rory, closer to the stereo than she was, did as she asked. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you don't like the Ronettes."

Amy held up a finger to silence her, and she frowned as though straining to hear something. "Can you hear that?"

Rory lifted an eyebrow. "Hear what?"

She closed her eyes for a second, and turned her head towards the living room window. Opening her eyes again, she said "I could have sworn I could have heard something out there."

Following her gaze, Rory saw nothing but the empty, deserted park and a few falling snowflakes.

"There's nothing out there, Amy," he said, concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Always the nurse," she said lightly, teasing him. "I guess it was nothing, I just thought I heard the TARDIS is all."

Rory's concern collapsed into compassion. He stepped over and scooped his wife into a hug. Pulling her tight against him, he brushed her beautiful red hair aside. "Oh, Amy."

Despite her best efforts, tears began to fall unrestrained from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Rory, I know he's gone. I know he is. But every now and then I could swear I hear the TARDIS, or I see someone wearing a ridiculous bowtie and I think that maybe it's him. Maybe he didn't die after all."

"Amy…" Rory said, but she cut him off before he could go on.

"I know, Rory. I know he's gone."

Rory turned the music back up, and enfolded his wife in another bear hug. He let her cry in his arms beneath the glittering lights of the Christmas tree.


	3. Act I: ASYLUM OF THE DALEKS

**ACT I**

**=~= ASYLUM OF THE DALEKS =~=**

* * *

**_Dramatis personae_**

The Doctor  
_Time Lord_

Darla von Karlsen  
_of the Sirius von Karlsens_

Oswin Oswald  
_survivor of the _Starship Alaska

Dalek Time Commander  
_ member of Dalek High Command_

Hanna von Karlsen_  
Darla's daughter, prisoner of the Daleks_

Harvey_  
survivor of the Starship Alaska_

_and  
_The Daleks


	4. Act I, scene i: Skaro

**Act I, scene i**

**-~- Skaro -~-**

* * *

_First, there were the Daleks and then there was a man who fought them. And then, in time, he died. There are a few, of course, who believe this man somehow survived, and that he will return in time to fight them again. For both our sakes, dearest Hanna, we must hope these stories are true. _

* * *

The smell of coffee and the sounds of lively conversation were in the air. The hiss from steam from the espresso machine and the sound of an Edith Piaf song filtering over hidden stereo speakers only added to the afternoon cacophony, while beautiful smells from the chocolate shop across the cobblestone Montmartre street threatened to carry him off with them on the warm summer's breeze.

The last time the Doctor had come to this particular Parisian café he'd been travelling with another of his brethren from Gallifrey. They'd decided to take some time off from their usual adventures and cool their heels for a while in the City of Light some time in the mid-seventies. Of course, like all of the Doctor's holidays, it hadn't gone quite that smoothly.

An artist had taken to drawing the Doctor's companion, Romana, and a time loop had temporarily bamboozled them. And driven them to offend the artist.

As usual, that had only been the beginning. They'd ended up chasing copies of Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa through history, trying to prevent an ancient, evil alien from destroying Earth's history, which was all in a day's work, really.

Now, though, just as he had been since he'd said goodbye to Madge before his aborted visit with the Ponds, the Doctor was trying to keep a low profile. What were the odds, he'd reasoned, of the same café being the site of more than one temporal anomaly? So he'd come here, taken his tea and scones, and chosen the quietest table he could find.

He had spent a while people-watching, reminiscing about the days he'd spent travelling with Romana, when he noticed he was being watched.

With a scone perched at his mouth, he turned to see a robed figure staring at him from beneath the cowl of its hood. He could make out no distinguishing features aside from an air of close menace.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed and he set the scone back down on the delicate china plate before him. The hooded figure did not look away. The sounds of conversation and music died away, and the Doctor looked away for a brief instant, only to find the hooded figure sitting across from him at his quiet table.

"I don't believe I asked you to sit," the Doctor said, a hint of anger in his flat tone.

"There is a woman who wants to meet you," the figure said, ignoring the Doctor's veiled threat. Its voice was a low rumble, without tone or emotion or anything to give away the identity of the speaker. Indeed, the Doctor had the feeling that he was actually speaking to a person.

"That's nice, but I'm married."

To the Doctor's surprise, the figure said "Help is required."

Keeping any emotion at all from showing on his face, the Doctor said simply "I don't discuss my business in public."

"I know," was all the figure said, and with a flick of a grey-skinned hand he made every single person in the café and on the street outside vanish in an instant.

The Doctor tried to hide his shock and confusion, but only partially succeeded. Sizing the hooded figure up, the Doctor realised that he wasn't dealing with the standard-issue threatening individual. This was someone, or something, with great power and the ability to use it.

"Who are you?" the Doctor asked with a tight, wolfish smile.

"A messenger."

"A messenger?" the Doctor repeated, as though the idea was distasteful to him. "For who?"

"Darla von Karlsen," the robed being answered, but the Doctor didn't recognise the name at all.

"Never heard of her," the Doctor said, and pushed up from the table. In the split second it took to get himself to a standing position, his surroundings had changed entirely. No longer was he in a Parisian café, but in a darkened, gloomy chamber with only the robed figure for company. "Where's the tea room?"

"You were never in a tea room."

"Oh, of course," the Doctor said, the truth dawning on him. "Psychic projection. Someone's sending me a dream message. Well I hope I fell asleep somewhere comfy."

"Do you recognise where you are?" the figure asked.

Flittering across the edge of the Doctor's perceptions, he heard the tittering of a child at play. It was unsettling noise in such a dank, depressing place. He chose not to answer the question, but he did recognise the location: he was in the catacombs under the planet Skaro, where he and Romana had encountered Davros soon after she'd regenerated. "How do you hang up on this thing?"

"You can't," the figure answered; it wasn't making a threat, merely stating a fact.

The Doctor wasn't sure which upset him more. "Yeah? And what if I just wake up?"

The scene around them changed once again, and the Doctor suddenly found himself on a beach chair. He recognised the stretch of coastline, the wide ribbon of sand stretching out to a choppy grey sea beneath a brilliant, cloudlessly blue sky: this was Brighton, another location he'd visited with Romana, all those lifetimes ago.

"No, Doctor," the hooded figure's voice assured him, "the beach isn't real."

Of course it wasn't, the Doctor knew. Why was his subconsciousness bringing him to places he'd visited with his erstwhile Time Lady companion? Had he just been thinking of her when he'd fallen asleep?

"You are still dreaming."

The Doctor leapt to his feet, and found himself standing in a starfield. Around glittered constellations and nebulae. He was staring at a sector of space. A sector he recognised instinctively.

"Space time coordinates," the hooded figure explained as its long, grey fingers sketched out ghostly images in the darkness between them. "You will meet Darla von Karlsen here. Her daughter is in danger and only you can save her."

The Doctor swallowed. He knew those coordinates. They struck fear into his hearts, and worse… they inspired hatred.

"You recognise the planet," the figure said, but it wasn't a question.

"Yeah," the Doctor nodded.

"Say it."

"No," he spat, infuriated and terrified to the point where he felt nothing but a dull ache in his chest.

"Name the planet," the figure pressed, and the Doctor got the impression that, whatever it was, it was taunting him.

"I will not say that name!" the Doctor roared, and jerked awake.

He was in the TARDIS control room, leaning against the console. The room was dark, the usual intrinsic light that glowed from the walls of burnished bronze, gold and orange somehow subdued. Indeed, the only light was the faint greenish glow of the console and the time rotor. The room was cold, and the Doctor felt more alone than he had felt in a very, very long time.

"Name the planet," the figure's voice echoed in the darkness.

The Doctor sighed, unwilling to face what that name signified. It was a planet he thought long destroyed. Perhaps the victory the Daleks had scored against him in London, back when he'd first started travelling with Amy, had been more sweeping than he'd ever allowed himself to imagine.

Perhaps, somehow, they had managed to reconstitute their long-destroyed homeworld.

"Skaro," he said, and the name gave him a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill that suffused the console room.

* * *

The Doctor found Darla von Karlsen in an enormous, skyscraper-sized idol built of stone. It was built to resemble his greatest enemies, the Daleks, and the sight of the construction, many times larger than the ruined buildings that surrounded it, was enough to terrify him with the memories of those creatures and all they had done.

They had destroyed entire worlds, killed his friends and massacred populations. Time and time again, he had fought them and time and time again he had won, and yet no matter how many times he defeated they always came back, stronger and more dangerous before. The Daleks were horrific creatures, beasts without mercy or remorse who killed without hesitation. They were his antithesis, his nemesis. The purest distillation of everything he considered wrong in the universe.

And here he was, on the planet that had spawned them, meeting a woman who could somehow reach into his dreams to summon him.

At the highest point of the statue, in the stone eyestalk that stuck out from the domed top of the monument, a woman in a cowled purple cloak stood looking out over the ruined city. Angry, red clouds threw sheets of radioactive rain through abandoned, muddy streets, and flashes of lightning occasionally cast the mountains in the far distance in harsh relief.

Darla von Karlsen heard movement behind her, and turned on her leather, stiletto heels to see the Doctor approach her.

With his pronounced, square jaw and mop of dark hair, the Doctor looked as bizarre as ever in his tweed jacket and bowtie, and only the uncompromising expression frozen on his face signified how furious and uncomfortable he was.

"I got your message," he said by way of greeting, not bothering with formalities. "Not many people can do that, send me a message. Especially not via psychic projection."

Darla, with a strong, aristocratic nose and a stark fringe of strawberry blonde hair framing large, expressive brown eyes, wasted no time in getting to the point. "I have a daughter, Hanna. She's in a Dalek prison camp. They say you can help."

The Doctor took note of the bags under Darla's eyes, the tight-fitting travelling clothes she wore beneath her cloak. He wanted to ask her any number of question. How had she known to send him a message? How had she come to be on Skaro? And, most pressing of all, how could she possibly have known that he was still alive?

"Do they?" he settled on asking, deciding to keep his cards close to his chest for a while yet. "I wish they'd stop. Hell of a meeting place."

"They said I'd have to intrigue you," Darla told him, indicating the vista beyond the viewport. "I thought that hell, as you say, would do the trick."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "Who told you about me?"

"Does it matter?" Darla answered, trying to steer the conversation back to the point. The Doctor wouldn't be swayed.

"Right now, it matters more than anything in the universe," the Doctor answered, stepping closer to the cloaked woman. "You're very well informed, and I've taken pains to keep certain things about myself hidden."

Darla swallowed as he came close to her, brushing aside the hood of her cloak. "My family have contacts."

"Von Karlsen," the Doctor said, as though tasting the name. "Of the Sirius von Karlsens?"

Darla nodded. "Yes."

The Doctor shook his head and took a few steps away as he spoke. "One of the richest families in the Sirius colony, one of the richest human families ever, and yet here you are. On Skaro. In hell. If your daughter's in a Dalek prison camp, tell me: why aren't you?"

Darla turned and stalked towards him. "My daughter was taken during the Dalek raid on the Sirius colony six months ago. I escaped their raiding parties, stayed hidden. I spent half my family's fortune trying to find her, and the other half trying to find you."

The Doctor laughed darkly. "No. No one escapes the Daleks' notice. No one stays hidden. They allowed you to go free, even after they'd taken your daughter. Why?"

Darla's mouth worked silently for a few moments, before she said quietly "I don't know."

"How did you find out about me?"

She frowned, as though searching for the answer. "I… I can't remember."

The Doctor shook his head and laughed again.

Darla seemed taken aback. "What? What's wrong?"

The Doctor closed his eyes tightly, thinking through the implications of what he'd just realised. "I should have known. The Daleks told you about me. They told you how to find me. They used you. You were a tool, Darla von Karlsen. You were a trap."

Darla, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears, shook her head. "No."

"And the worst part is that you didn't even know," the Doctor said, turning away from her. He decided in that instant that he had to get out of there, and fast. If the Daleks knew that Darla was here, if they knew she had summoned him, then he had only a few moments before they were on top of him.

"Wait, please!" Darla cried, clearly terrified.

The Doctor ignored her, instead making a beeline for the exit. His TARDIS was at the foot of the statue. He'd have to get there quickly if he had a hope of escape.

He was almost at the door when he heard a low-pitched, familiar electronic drone. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He was too late. The Daleks had found him. A pair of the metal-armoured creatures, hidden in their Dalekanium casings behind their eyestalks, their plunger-tipped manipulator arms and their deadly gunsticks, came gliding into the chamber.

Darla gave a shocked cry, but the Doctor could only shake his head.

He was trapped in a small, stone-walled room, the only exit blocked by a pair of Daleks and the only window six hundred metres or more above the ground below. Even he couldn't survive a fall like that.

Then, to his horror, even that potential avenue of escape was taken from him.

A Dalek spaceship, a flying saucer studded with independently spinning spheres and bristling with weapons emplacements, fell through the red clouds and took up position directly across from them.

The Doctor and Darla shared a quick look, and in that moment he realised how terrified she was. Her strawberry blond hair reminded him, quite absurdly, of Amy Pond.

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Darla said.

"I know," was all he said in response, and turned back to face the Daleks. "Well, are you going to exterminate me or what?"

The Daleks studied him through their glowing eyestalks.

Instead of giving their usual cry of "Exterminate!" however, the Daleks, in unison, simply announced "**The Doctor has been acquired!**"

"What?" the Doctor spat in shock. "_What?_"

Before anything else could be said, however, a brilliant light swept through the viewport looking out over the city. The light swallowed everything, drowning out the stone walls, the Daleks and Darla. The Doctor tried to speak, but found that he couldn't even move. He felt a wave of tingling sensations sweep across his body as he was pulled apart atom by atom by atom…

* * *

**A/N:** please review and let me know what you think of the direction I'm taking!


	5. Act I, scene ii: Save the Daleks

**Act I, scene ii**

**-~- Save the Daleks -~-**

* * *

It might have been a microsecond after he'd rematerialised or it might have been a million years, but the Doctor regained consciousness in stages. First he became aware that he was lying on a flat, metallic surface that was vibrating beneath him. He realised in that instant that he was aboard a spaceship in flight.

Next his hearing returned. He heard the distant hum of atmospheric generators and of engines several decks below. He could smell nothing, aside from the dull tang of recycled air, and he could taste something metallic. A wave of pain struck him as he tried to sit up. He groaned, and reached a hand up to his forehead.

Everything felt distant, as though he was perceiving the memory of a touch or movement rather than touch or movement itself.

Slowly, memories came back to him.

He remembered falling asleep in the TARDIS, dreaming that he was in Paris, that he was on Skaro, that he was asleep on the beach in Brighton. He remembered the cowled figure, telling him to travel to Skaro. He remembered meeting Darla von Karlsen, of the Sirius von Karlsens, and learning about her missing daughter.

"Daleks," he said to himself, and his eyes snapped open as the fight or flight response took hold and wiped away the last of his residual transmat dementia. He was alone in a featureless white room, but he now recognised the pitch of the engines and the frequency of the vibrations in the deck.

He was aboard the Dalek ship that had surprised him and Darla on Skaro.

Why hadn't they exterminated him yet? Hadn't they learnt by now that if they kept him alive, he'd only find a way to defeat them? At that thought, he allowed himself a grim smile.

He felt around in the pocket of his jacket for his sonic screwdriver, only to realise that the Daleks had been clever enough to disarm him. Indeed, he wasn't carrying anything, not even his psychic paper or the TARDIS key.

"The TARDIS," he said to himself, remembering that he'd left it on Skaro. He hoped the radioactive acid rain that was relentlessly lashing that dead world wouldn't damaged his oldest friend too badly.

He sighed and went over to the other side of the chamber. As he approached, a section of the wall retracted inwards a few millimetres and then slid upwards. The Doctor had to control a gasp as he saw a beautiful vista stretching out before him.

He was staring at the velvety blue-black of space, studded with the distant, glimmering lights of thousand upon thousands of stars. He didn't recognise that stretch of space right away, and didn't have time to think about it in any great depth when he realised that, situated between his position and the starfield, rotating slowly in the vacuum of space, were dozens and dozens of Dalek spaceships, just like the one that had captured him on Skaro.

He shuddered.

Here he was, trapped and helpless in the middle of a huge Dalek battle fleet. What were they doing? Where were they going? What did they want with him?

"Hello?" he called, spinning around. "Hello! Is anyone listening?"

As if in answer, a larger section of the wall slid inwards and then up, revealing a wide, tall doorway. Still wearing her purple cloak, with her cowl pushed back and genuine terror in her eyes, Darla von Karlsen entered the Doctor's cell, followed by a pair of Daleks.

"Darla," the Doctor said by way of greeting, his tone guarded. "Still alive, I see."

"Doctor," she said in response, and the Doctor noted the fear in her liltingly-accented voice. "I'm sorry. I should never have brought you to Skaro."

"It wasn't your fault," he assured her, before one of the Daleks interrupted their brief conversation.

"**Silence!**" the Dalek ordered, and moved menacingly towards Darla. She stepped further into the room, closer to the Doctor. "**You will cease all unnecessary conversation!**"

"How much trouble am I in?" the Doctor asked the Daleks as he stepped towards Darla, putting himself between them and her.

"**You will tell him the situation,**" the other Dalek told Darla, its eyestalk studying her intently. The tall woman blanched and shuddered involuntarily. With that, both of the Daleks withdrew from the chamber. The door sealed shut behind them.

The Doctor immediately rounded on Darla. "Tell me what's going on. Tell me everything, leave nothing out. Even the smallest thing could be vitally important."

Darla nodded, but didn't speak. Looking utterly terrified, she was shaking and her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. She frowned as though thinking about where to start.

"Darla!" the Doctor said, interrupting her thoughts. "I need you to speak. What happened on Skaro after the Daleks transmatted me away?"

She swallowed. "They… they told me that I had been part of their plan from the beginning. That they had used me to lure you to Skaro, just like you said. I swear I didn't know. I swear it!"

The Doctor's hearts melted at the sight of the woman's desperation. "I know, Darla, I know you didn't. They've been manipulating for months now."

He helped her off her shaky feet, and she sat uncomfortably on the cell floor. She hadn't stopped shaking, and the Doctor stepped away for a moment so she could collect herself. Usually, he'd be pressing for information, but so much about Darla reminded him of Amy even beyond the superficial cosmetic traits the two women shared. Darla was a mother, separated from her daughter the way Amy had been separated from River.

The Doctor determined, in that moment, to reunite mother and daughter if at all possible.

"Doctor," Darla said, her voice cutting into his thoughts. "She's alive, Doctor. Hanna. The Daleks have her, but she's still alive."

The Doctor turned on her again, arching an eyebrow. "How do you know that, Darla? Did they tell you?"

Darla swallowed and shook her head, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. "No, they showed me. She's somewhere here, aboard this ship. They promised me I could have her back if I helped them."

The Doctor considered, ignoring Darla's obvious emotional turmoil for a moment. "Help them? With what? You already got me here, what more could they want from you?"

Darla shook her head. "I don't know. I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm so sorry."

He hung his head, thinking for a second. "Whatever the Daleks want, Darla, I'm sorry to tell you that they're probably lying."

"About what?" Darla asked, shaking her head in distress.

"In all likelihood, Darla, your daughter is already dead," the Doctor said. The woman collapsed into tears, and the Doctor sank down beside her. He folded his arm over her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"She's alive, Doctor," Darla said through heaving sobs. "Why would they tell me otherwise?"

"To ensure your cooperation," the Doctor said, shaking his head in commiseration. "I just can't figure out why."

"I know why," she said, her voice quiet. "They said you would require me. They said that if… if you succeeded, they'd give me Hanna back."

The Doctor froze. "That I would require you? For what?"

Before Darla could answer, a deep rumbling sounded from somewhere above them. The Doctor craned his head back, and saw the ceiling was irising open, revealing a dark, cavernous space stretching on for as far as the Doctor could see. At the same time, the floor beneath them began to lift upwards.

Darla's sobs silenced, and she shifted herself closer to the Doctor as they passed above the ceiling and continued on upwards. After a few moments, they reached the top of what seemed to be an elevator shaft.

The Doctor was rendered speechless by the sight that greeted them.

They were in the centre of a circular chamber that resembled nothing so much as a stadium. Rising in tiers all around them were hundreds and hundreds of Daleks, every last one of them watching the Doctor and Darla on the platform as it came to a stop.

High above them was a transparent bulkhead that showed them the depths of space, but even from this vantage point it was studded with Dalek spaceships. The Doctor let Darla go and leapt to his feet, turning around to take it all in. Most of the Daleks were the bronze-armoured variants he'd fought on Satellite 5, at Canary Wharf and had composed the majority of Davros' New Dalek Empire, but there were many examples of the New Dalek Paradigm that had been conceived over London in 1941.

The Doctor was pleased to see his TARDIS parked not far away, but a pair of red-armoured New Paradigm drones guarded it. The Doctor immediately ruled dashing towards his ship and making a quick getaway. There was no way he'd make it, and even if he could he was sure the Daleks would shoot down Darla.

More of their crimson brethren milled about on various levels, their oversized gunsticks all pointed towards the Doctor. Only a few metres from where the Doctor and Darla were standing rose a metallic pavilion, housing an enormous tank filled with thick, viscous nutrient fluid. Blue-armoured Strategists were clustered together not far from the tank, and a cadre of white-armoured Supreme Daleks surrounded it in a tight ring.

Illuminated by harsh, white lights, the sole inhabitant of the tank twitched. A one-eyed Dalek mutant watched the Doctor intently, and the Time Lord's jaw fell open.

"Doctor," came Darla's voice, sounding thin and reedy in the cavernous chamber. "Where are we?"

"This isn't just any Dalek spaceship. This is the Dalek High Command," the Doctor explained, unsure he was able to trust what his eyes were telling him and positive that he didn't want to believe it. "We're in the Dalek High Command."

"What do we do?" Darla said, getting to her feet and rushing to his side.

The Doctor swallowed. "Just do as I say, Darla. If you trust me, we can escape. I promise. When I say run, Darla, I mean run, all right? Make for that blue box. Get inside, and then get down."

"But what about Hanna, Doctor?"

The Doctor paused, unsure what to say. Part of him was sure that the girl was already dead, but he couldn't rule out the possibility, however slight, that she was still alive. When he'd failed to reunite Amy with baby Melody, he'd let her down. He knew, as surely as he knew he had two hearts, that Amy wouldn't want him to keep another mother separated from her child, not if he could possibly help it.

"If she's alive, Darla, we'll find her," the Doctor whispered. "I promise."

"Look no further, Doctor," a deep voice boomed. The Doctor spun to behold the Dalek mutant floating in its tank. Unlike the usual electronically modulated voice of the standard Dalek, this one spoke with a clear, clarion tone; less of the usual screaming cadence and more of a plaintive, demanding voice.

One of the Supreme Daleks moved aside and revealed a shivering, skinny little girl who couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. She shared her mother's aristocratic nose and strawberry blonde hair, but hers was matted and dirty.

"Hanna!" Darla shouted, and the Doctor heard the jubilation in her tone.

"Darla, no!" the Doctor called and grabbed her the shoulder, holding her back. "Don't provoke them."

"Mum!" Hanna screamed, her accent matching Darla's.

"It's okay, Hanna, I'm here!" Darla called to her before turning back to the Doctor. Though tears still shone in her eyes, the fear had been replaced with fury. "You can't expect me to just stand here, Doctor!"

"That is exactly what he expects," the mutant said.

The Doctor ignored it. "Just stay here, Darla. Let me handle this. I promise you, I will do everything I can to get Hanna back to you."

Darla nodded reluctantly.

"Make them remember you, Darla," the Doctor told her, taking her face in his hands and looking her in the eyes. "Listen to me. Make them remember you. Make them fear you. Make them fear the wrath of a mother."

Meeting his eyes, Darla nodded. When he let her go, she wiped that last of her tears away.

The Doctor turned, and took a few steps towards the mutant. "Come on, then," he said, spreading his arms to present himself as an inviting target to the creature and its fellows. "You've got me! At long last!"

The Daleks watched him, following him with their eyestalks.

"What are you waiting for?" the Doctor demanded. "Here I am!"

He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting to hear the familiar Dalek war cry and feel the agony of their weaponsfire tearing through him, burning him from the inside and extinguishing his life in one terribly painful moment.

And then, to his everlasting horror, the mutant spoke. "Save us."

The Doctor's eyes sprang open, and Darla threw a hand to her mouth.

"What?" the Doctor asked, his voice dull with surprise.

"You will save us," the mutant ordered, though there was a note of pleading in its words.

"I'll what?" the Doctor asked, unable to believe his ears.

"You will save the Daleks!"

The hundreds of Daleks that surrounded them, from the bronze-plated footsoldiers to the crimson Drones, from the blue Strategists to the alabaster Supreme Daleks, began to chorus the plea with one voice.

"**Save the Daleks! Save the Daleks! Save the Daleks!**"

He noticed Hanna jump with surprise, looking around in shock at the Daleks as they repeated those three words over and over again. Darla shifted uncomfortably; she had never seen or heard of the Daleks acting like this. The one thing she had ever been able to take comfort in when she thought of the Daleks and their ruthless, genocidal nature was the predictability of their behaviour.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

"Well," he said to Darla with a roguish wink that unsettled her even more than the Daleks had. "This is new."

* * *

**A/N:** _I renamed the Dalek Parliament because, frankly, the concept of the Daleks having a parliament, or a democratic institution of any kind, is nonsense. I mean, like, the Daleks don't have civilians, so they don't even need a Reichstag-style sham representative body? So I called it the Dalek High Command, which makes so much more sense. I mean, if the Daleks have a parliament and a prime minister, do they also have a cabinet? Political parties? Caucuses? Committees? Whips? Which Dalek is leader of the opposition, and who picks how that all works? Anyways, yeah, High Command it is._


	6. Act I, scene iii: Oswin Oswald

**Act I, scene iii**

**-~- Oswin Oswald -~-**

* * *

_Day 363._

_The terror continues. Also, made another soufflé. Very nearly. Checked defences: they came again last night. Always at night. Maybe they're vampires. And it's mum's birthday. Happy birthday mum. _

_I made you a soufflé but it was too beautiful to live._

* * *

The strains of '_L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_' drifted through the air.

Oswin Oswald sighed with frustration as she opened her oven and found that her attempts at a soufflé had once again come to nothing. She lifted the ceramic pot from the oven, her hands protected by a pair of oversized and overstuffed oven mitts. With a bump from her hip, she slammed the oven door closed and tipped the scorched contents of the pot into the recycler.

At least her cramped living space would smell of baking for the rest of the day. Taking off her apron, she folded it up and put it on the counter. She turned to the only door leading into the chamber, a circular hatchway, and noted with horror that one of the quadanium steel bars she'd bolted across it had come loose.

Oswin had spent almost a year in this same space, barely ten metres by ten metres, and had made it her own. Not bad, she thought, for a standard-issue escape pod.

She'd planted a small hydroponic garden from the pod's stores, and had strung up a hammock to sleep on. The pod, designed to carry high-paying passengers, had come with a fully stocked larder and kitchen, as well as a few genetically engineered plants that served as the most efficient atmospheric scrubbers thus far designed by humankind, a completely operational entertainment and information system powered by a nuclear battery that was meant to last forever.

She'd long since ditched her white uniform, instead wearing one of the dresses she'd found in a duffel bag that had been left on board, and had taken to tinkering with the pod's systems in an attempt to get a message off-world.

Walking over to the hatch, she used a multi-tool from her utility belt to hammer the quadanium bar back into place, and then added another from the small pile she kept near the door. The quadanium, originally meant to serve as support struts for the erection of an emergency shelter, served her far better in this capacity.

She shouldn't have been surprised to see it knocked loose honestly. They came every night, after all; they had for almost a year now. Sighing, she turned away from the door and went over the hammock. Sinking into it, she recorded a brief message for her log.

Three hundred and sixty three days into her isolation, she'd settled into a fairly comfortable routine.

And then they came.

They began their pounding against the escape pod's thick, shielded hull, their screeching voices piercing even the sound of the opera Oswin piped through the speakers from the entertainment system. She couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but she knew the gist of the message: surrender. Give up. Let us in.

Oswin Oswald wasn't having a bar of it.

She tucked the recording device back in its pouch on her belt, and took out the remote control for the entertainment system. Spinning the dial, she upped the volume and changed the track.

'_Toreador, en garde_', from the same opera as '_Rebelle_', blared from the various hidden speakers, but even that glorious anthem wasn't enough to drown out the banging and screeching of the would-be intruders. She'd fought too hard and for too long to just roll over and give up now.

She shut her eyes and blocked her ears and waited for the Daleks to go away.

* * *

In the Dalek High Command, the Doctor was pacing back and forth. Darla and Hanna watched him expectantly, but their attentions paled in comparison to the way the Daleks were surveying his every move. He seemed to be considering every possible angle on the situation.

In an instant, he had calculated the distance between where he was standing and the TARDIS, counted the exact number of Daleks in the room and gotten a read on all the possible avenues of escape. He came to a conclusion immediately. He was stuck.

He found himself looking between Darla and Hanna, who was still standing beside the naked Dalek mutant, floating in its tank. Even if he could escape, there was no way he could leave the woman and her daughter to their death. Besides, the TARDIS was too well guarded. He'd need a miracle to get out of this.

Of course, the fact that the Daleks hadn't exterminated him yet was a good sign. That they needed help from their worst enemy, however, was not.

He straightened his bowtie, checked the watch on his wrist and squared his jaw.

"**We have arrived!**" announced a Dalek Supreme.

The Doctor took a moment to collect himself, to shove his fears and anxieties deep in the corners of his mind. "Arrived where?"

"Doctor," the mutant beckoned.

"**The Time Commander will speak with you now,**" another Dalek Supreme ordered, and a pair of Drones scooted towards the Doctor, gunsticks aimed directly for his hearts.

The two herded him and Darla towards the mutant's tank, while Hanna was moved aside. The girl hadn't taken her eyes off her mother and was crying freely now. Darla plainly wanted to go to her daughter, but the Doctor stopped her with a look: they couldn't afford to provoke the Daleks, not at this point.

As the Doctor approached the tank, he got a good look at the mutant.

Its one eye, yellowed and bloodshot, seemed to see with more clarity than the Doctor would have liked. Its tentacles hung limply, withered and atrophied as though they hadn't been used in a long time. The brain that dominated its upper half was many times larger than the standard Dalek's.

"The Dalek Time Commander," the Doctor said, slightly awed by the creature. "Didn't think I'd ever meet you."

"What is the Time Commander?" Darla asked.

"Didn't all your money get you that piece of information?" the Doctor asked the woman, but continued before she could answer. "The Dalek Time Commander was a specially bred Dalek mutant, meant to be able to perceive the flux and flow of timelines. It was created to coordinate their actions across history."

Darla shuddered at the thought. The Daleks had been destructive enough over the duration of her lifetime, and the idea that they could spread their particular brand of chaos and death throughout history was unthinkable.

The Time Commander made a noise not unlike a cackle. "I have seen all time and space, Doctor."

The Doctor was put in mind of Dalek Caan, the last of the Cult of Skaro. This creature, however, had not reached the same conclusion Caan had. Where Caan had seen the totality of Dalek existence and decreed no more, the Time Commander had been created specificially to see all the Daleks had done and figure out how to do more of it.

Drawing himself up to his full height, the Doctor said "And what do you want with me?"

The Dalek Time Commander seemed to take pleasure in what it said next. "What do you know of the Dalek Asylum?"

The Doctor grimaced. "According to legend, you have a dumping ground. A planet where you lock up all the Daleks who go wrong. The battle-scarred, the insane, the ones even you can't control. It never made sense to me."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd just kill them," the Doctor said.

"It is offensive to us to extinguish such divine hatred," the Time Commander said with something like reverence, a cascade of bubbles running through its tank. "Does it surprise you to know the Daleks have a concept of beauty?"

The Doctor, his jaw slack with horror, stepped over to the tank and studied the mutant closely, meeting its eye. The mutant blinked languidly.

"I thought you'd run out of ways to make me sick," the Doctor said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think hatred is beautiful."

He turned and took a few steps away.

"Perhaps that is why we have never been able to kill you," the Time Commander taunted.

A holographic projector whirred to life, and a vast spherical image appeared above the central platform. The Doctor and Darla turned to behold it. Though tinged blue, the hologram clearly depicted a snowbound planet, wrapped for the most part in a thick layer of white and grey and black cloudcover. What parts of the surface the Doctor could see were shrouded in snow and ice.

"The Asylum occupies the entire planet," the Time Commander explained. "Right to the core."

"How… how many Daleks are in there?" Darla asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"**Unknown,**" a Dalek Supreme told them. "**A count has not been made.**"

"Millions," the Time Commander supplied. "The Asylum is fully automated. All the Daleks are still alive. No supervision is required."

And that's when it hit the Doctor. Why they needed him here. He spun on the Dalek Time Commander, grinning in understanding. "You've lost control, haven't you?"

The Dalek's withered tentacles tightened.

"What do you mean?" Darla asked the Doctor, but he continued walking in a slow circle around the Time Commander. The Dalek Supremes that watched over the mutant followed him with their eyestalks and gunsticks.

"You left a whole bunch of insane, twisted Daleks on a planet by themselves," the Doctor said, shaking his head, "gave them an automated facility and hoped that they'd all be too broken to figure out how to turn it against you. But one of them has, hasn't it? One of them has found out how to escape."

There was a titter throughout the chamber, and the Doctor smiled grimly.

"**This signal is being received from the very heart of the Asylum,**" one of the Dalek strategists supplied, its blue armour glinting in the light of the mutant's tank.

The Doctor was nearly deafened by the sound of an operatic anthem pouring through the auditorium's speakers. Hanna's hands flew to her ears, and Darla looked around in surprise.

"What is that?" she demanded.

"It's me," the Doctor said, surprised.

"**Explain!**" chorused the Supreme Daleks, a note of panic suffusing the word. "**Explain!**"

"How?" the Dalek Time Commander asked.

"On the triangle," the Doctor said, and mimed playing a triangle in time with the music. "I must have gotten buried in the mix. The song is from _Carmen_, by Georges Bizet. Lovely show. Someone's transmitting this."

He wandered over to a nearby console obviously designed to be used by the Daleks' plunger-like manipulator arms, deftly handling the hemispherical controls. Darla followed.

"Have you tried tracing back the signal and talking to them?" the Doctor asked, only to catch himself immediately when he was met by silence. "He asked the Daleks."

He twisted a few more controls.

"Hello? Carmen? Come in, come in. Come in Carmen!"

"_Hello?_" A tinny, surprised-sounding voice drifted back through the speaker system. At a guess, the Doctor would have said a young woman, human, in her mid-twenties. "_Hello! Yes! Yes! Sorry. Do you read me?_"

"Yes, reading you loud and clear," the Doctor said, injecting his voice with a false bravado. "Identify yourself and report your status."

"_Are you real?_" came the unexpected response. "_Are you actually, properly real?_"

The Doctor blinked. "Yep, confirmed. Actually, properly real."

"_Oswin Oswald,_" the voice announced. "_Junior entertainment manager, _Starship Alaska_. Current status: crashed and shipwrecked somewhere… not nice. Been here a year, rest of the crew missing, provisions good but keen to move on._"

The Doctor noticed that another titter ran through the Daleks. "A year? Are you okay? Are you under attack?"

"_Some local lifeforms,_" Oswin answered. "_I've been keeping them out._"

"Do you know what those lifeforms are?" the Doctor asked.

"_I know a Dalek when I hear one, yeah,_" Oswin said, sounding glum.

The Doctor frowned. "What have you been doing on your own against the Daleks for a year?"

"_Making soufflés,_" Oswin answered, somewhat facetiously.

The Doctor grinned, but before he could ask another question a Dalek Supreme roared "**This conversation is irrelevant!**"

"No, it isn't!" the Doctor answered, as the line was cut in a burst of static. He rounded on the Supreme that had interrupted him. "Because a starliner has crashed into your Asylum, and someone has gotten in. If someone can get in, that means someone can get out, and what's the bet that all those mad Daleks down there are planning exactly that?"

Darla sucked in a shocked breath.

"The Asylum must be cleansed," the Dalek Time Commander crooned.

"Then why is it still here? You have enough firepower on this ship to destroy the entire planet in an instant," the Doctor said, whirling on the horrific creature. He came up short. "Unless…"

"Unless what, Doctor?" Darla pressed.

"There's something down there you want," the Doctor said, horrified comprehension dawning on him. He provided a slow clap to underscore his next point. "Some new weapon. Some new development. Something that you need. And you're too afraid to go down there and get it yourself. So tell me, what do the Daleks do when they're too scared?"

"**The Oncoming Storm will be deployed,**" the Dalek Strategists chorused.

The Doctor swallowed. "What?"

"You will be go to the Asylum, Doctor," the Time Commander said with something akin to glee. "You will retrieve what we desire."

"And why would I do that?"

If the Time Commander could have smiled, it would have at that moment. "Because if you don't, the girl will be killed."

Every Dalek on the platform turned and trained its gunstick on young Hanna.

"No!" Darla cried, and Hanna covered her face in her hands.

The Doctor surveyed the Time Commander with cold fury. "I'll do what you ask, but make no mistake. When this is over, I am coming for you. Do you hear me? _I am coming for all of you!_"

His words echoed through the chamber.

The Time Commander seemed unperturbed. "The gravity beam will convey you both close to the central holding facility of the Asylum."

The Doctor was taken aback. "Us both? Who both?"

"He means me, Doctor," Darla said.

The Doctor turned to her to find her shaking, her mouth a thin line and her already pale skin ashen. "No," he said to the Time Commander. "I refuse. I'm not going to put her in any more danger."

"It is known that the Doctor requires companions," the Time Commander told her. "She will function as your companion."

The Drones were back now, and the Doctor and Darla were forced from the Time Commander's pavilion towards the central platform. The hologram died away, and a brilliant white cone of pulsating energy appeared; a stable gravitic transmat corridor. The Supremes and Strategists all had their guns trained on Hanna, who cried out for her mother.

"Mum!" the little girl screamed.

"I'll be back for you, Hanna!" Darla shouted to her. "I promise!"

"This is your plan?" the Doctor roared at the Time Commander. "To hurl me down to a planet and hope I solve all your problems?"

The Daleks said nothing, and the Drones had nearly forced the Doctor and Darla into the corridor. The Doctor reached out and took the woman's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Don't be scared," he told her, and looked her in the eyes. "We'll get through this, I promise. Just stick close to me and do as I say. We'll get Hanna back, I promise."

Darla nodded, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. "All right, Doctor. I'm so sorry about all of this."

The Doctor offered her a compassionate smile. "There was no way you could have known this was going to happen."

They were standing now at the threshold of the corridor. Its energy tugged at them, threatened to pull them inside and cast them down to the planet the Dalek ship was orbiting. The Drones nudged them forward, pressing their gunsticks into their backs.

"Geronimo!" the Doctor cried, and he and Darla took a running leap into the mouth of the corridor.

It pulled at them, whipped them this way and that. They tumbled end over end as unspeakable energies bore them aloft and drove them down, down, downwards towards the snowbound, Dalek-infested planet far below. It would have exhilarating were it now so monumentally terrifying.

"I'm upside down!" Darla screeched, but the Doctor held her hand tight.

"I've got you! I've got you!" he promised.

Then the whiteness of the corridor overwhelmed his senses and he lost consciousness for the second time that day.

* * *

**A/N:** _so instead of the Ponds, the Doctor's companion for this adventure is Darla von Karlsen. Who isn't a Dalek zombie puppet... or rather, isn't a Dalek zombie puppet yet. I haven't included the Ponds because I think that a longer separation will make the reunion much stronger. They will be back! Besides, Darla serves as a nice thematic link: a mother separated from her child, like Amy, and she even has red hair. _

_I changed the parametres of the Daleks' mission for the Doctor, as well. Like, if the Daleks could send people through the forcefield, why didn't they just beam down a bomb? It makes more sense for them to want something on the planet that only the Doctor can get. They haven't told the Doctor what that is, though, and it'll become clear why. Also, there is a definite villain in this story, but more on that later. The Daleks in the Asylum, in the actual episode, didn't really do anything. In this story, they'll do loads._

_Also, I changed the Dalek Prime Minister to the Dalek Time Commander... I hope it makes sense, given what I wrote in the last author's note, why I did that. Please review and let me know what you think so far!_


End file.
